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 |  The latest Life Journey of Nada, widowed, now married! Blog #4 |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I'm no longer a single widow. I found true love again. Call me Lucky! |
| I know, I had hoped to blog more regularly and now here it is the final weekend in May. Well, you do have to begin somewhere, so here I go. I saw Tor's blog on the page when I came in, and how good to see him back also. They say you can't go home again, but I think we just may be able to. Today marks a big turning point for me, I'm going in to proof the first postcards I have created. WHAT? Yes, I have turned artist on you...and NO I have not abandoned my writing...never. But since the death of my husband exactly 9 months ago, I found myself using my art more and more. It began as my little cartoon character BuffyW (shown on my T-shirt in my blog header) and progressed to drawing of my town. I realize that today I really am giving birth to a whole new me. Just like a pregnancy during the last 9 months the ideas have been growing inside of me and finally, I have given birth to this new direction in my life. I am now on the fourth book of my Grieving Series...where I did a cartoon drawing expressing how I am feeling at the end of each day. Sometimes I could not get many words out...often actually, but I could draw how I was feeling. The interesting thing for me is to go back to the first one I did back in Sept. of last year and see how far I have come. I am in a place I would have never believed to exist for me way back then...and I am alive, perhaps moreso than I had been for years. At any rate, I am still kicking, still struggling to make sense of life and still wanting to share my thoughts. I know things have been changing here too, but I like the fact that things are fluid here. I love that I have this outlet...while it is familiar it is also unfamiliar. I'm ready to embrace it all, finally. I have other good news too...but for now I need to go look at those proofs! I hope you all have a splendid Friday...in any way you can! |
| It's been quite awhile since I blogged here, and so much has changed. I hardly know where to begin. Oh heck, I'll just start talking to you like I always have, with whatever it is I feel I need to say. Since my last blog I was on our annual Holiday cruise...this time for a month, one we had planned and paid for. I went alone. It was eye opening for me. I never knew I was so....gregarious. Thank gawd I was or it would have been a really horrible month! The little character I was drawing seemed to morph that trip, I drew my own postcards, and so did the (small) crowds (they grew too) of people who watched me do them every day. I got off the ship with my little postcards and watercolors and began drawing what I saw in port. I made a little Travel Diary of drawings. I painted Christmas Cards, I painted people who worked on the ship, I gave way maybe a hundred drawings/paintings business card sized and larger. I met all kinds of interesting people...no single men, but then this wasn't about me finding a man, it was about me finding myself. Little did I know that would be an ongoing process. I got some job offers too...but I was in no shape to follow up on them. I made a couple of friends, a young woman from England who had been a nanny in CA...remember single people were a huge rarity on this small ship...but then some of the staff took to me too and soon I was hanging with the 20 somethings...the old people were so...stuffy. I had a ball, and then it was over and back to reality. I've been working, trying to figure out Lance's businesses...and because he died so suddenly and unexpectedly he had no will...so now everything is in probate and I stand to lose most of it between taxes and his mother and brother who now are entitled to 1/2. I'm not whining too much...or maybe I am. I believed Lance when he said everything would be fine...I thought he had signed the papers we had drawn up several years ago. Oh well, can't cry over spilled milk anymore. I have to just suck it up and figure out how to make a life for myself, not so easy when you are about to be 62. I also was very ill the month of March into April...flat out thought I was going to croak. I don't mind telling you I was scared to death...but I made it through thanks to...yep, Cesar and his wife and a few other friends who kept me in food, trips to the hospital and doctor....it was sure scary being that ill all alone. It makes you do some serious thinking about your life, especially on the heels of what I had gone through. with Lance a few months earlier. However, ya'll know me, so now I have started a new business doing art. I'll post some pics of it soon. It's been so long since I was here I think there is a new system for pic uploading...I'll figure it out. They no longer have my little "character", but some of you may have seen some of the work over on my Facebook page  .Niles and Frasier are doing fine...and I do miss you all. I promise to come back soon. I do pop in and read and try to leave a comment when I do.  |
| “Did you see 2012?” The Fed-Ex employee with the slick Marcelled hair said, while she shifted from one large foot onto the other. Her enormous boobs were standing at unavoidable attention thrusting her name tag into the empty space above me. In the shadow of them hovering there I read the tag. Her name was Lisa. “No Lisa, and I don’t want to. There’s enough bad stuff happening here in 2009.” I looked her in the eyes. She looked away and punched some keys on that computer thing they carry like a ball and chain. “You know that Nostram-o-dammus guy? I saw a television show...” I feel my eyeballs roll back in my head (for the first time; it would happen again later on that night while on a phone call). I love how she mangled Nostradomus’ name while trying to impart the knowledge she gleaned as she tried to rope it and me into a conversation, “...all of the things he predicated are coming true, and after the one of 2012 didja know he just stopped writing predications?” The air was thick with thought and mangled words. “I think he died.” I threw out there, hoping this would end it. “I don’t think so, besides, you know about the Mayan Calendar?” She turned away to talk to the jeweler. And so once again my visit to the jeweler had mined more unnecessary information...and this time only slightly more disturbing. I could hear Skeeter Davis singing..."...it's the end of the woooorld..." “Yeah, I hear it didn’t go further than 2012 either.” Lisa turned back to me, “So what do you do?” A little mental whiplash was in order, I mean going from the total destruction of the earth to her sudden interest in what I do. “I’m a writer.” I sighed. “Do you know....um-m-m...what is his name? Um-m-m, he is on my route.” I can smell the smoke coming from her brain. She might as well have spit out his address...another moment of lag time and I would have asked her for it just so we could Google Map it on my iPhone. I hope I am never so successful that the Fed Ex or UPS guy (or gal) is out trying to ask everyone who is in whatever similar business if they know me. “Nope. I don’t know any other writers, especially ones who get overnighted scripts.” True. Well, I know a few who used to write scripts, and I’ve even had a few delivered to my place by messenger, but never by anyone half as interesting as Lisa. “Well, what are you doing here?” She asked as she inspected a ring she was picking up for repair. “Uh...” What the hell was I doing there anyway? “I’m dropping of some rings to be sized before I go on vacation.” Oh crap, why did I tell her that? “Where you goin’?” She had a direct glare that made me slightly uncomfortable. I noticed my jeweler wasn’t saying much, he just polished a chain. “On a cruise.” “Oh man, I’d hate to be on a cruise ship when a big earthquake would hit. I bet the ship would list from the huge wavea and water would come pouring into my room and I’d drown.” No you wouldn’t, not with those Mae West boobs. “Oh I think you would have time to get into a lifeboat.” I lied. “Ya think? I mean it would prolly fill up real fast. Once I was on a cruise to Alaska and a big wave came crashing through, broke some windows and I was scared to death.” Her eyes bugged out at the mere recall. “Gee, I think so.” I could just picture her floating up as her room filled with water, legs kicking, yelling and unable to think clearly. Yep, clearly she would not make it as a lifeboat captain. “But I doubt I could get the door open.” Well...I could see I wouldn’t win this round. “Yeah, I think you are right...probably wouldn’t get the door open. Have you made your will out yet?” About this time the jeweler had finished his work for her and I was, coincidently, now bored, having enough gloom and doom chat to last me a lifetime. She packed up her little white box with the newly polished new chain and punched some more numbers into the computer and wished me well as the shadow of her darkness left the shop. She was still trying to think of the name of that writer. I know because she was muttering just under her breath. “Steven...no...dang it....” the door clicked as it locked her out. Thank God for the security system. I looked at the jeweler questioningly....”Lisa sure can talk your ear off...” he said, “...I can never get her to shut up.” I just looked at him and decided he would no longer be my jeweler. “I need to go, will you call me when the rings are sized? Bye.” A tidal wave of relief was pushing me out into the bright sunlit day. Yep, there is definitely a reason I no longer do retail. I laugh at Black Friday! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Yesterday I had an “astrologer” give me a reading. Why? I happen to have a spare $25 I wanted to donate to a worthy cause; the 75 year old, who should spend it on a hair dye (or to get a haircut at the absolute minimum) lady from Europe, just trying to make a few bucks on a beautiful sunny day, feet up on a cat fabric-covered porch swing that had a price tag of $69 on it. I honestly don’t understand why women continue have long hair long after they cease to care about doing anything with it (and I know there is no guy who loves them with long hair). They let the roots go too long, part it down the middle, wiry gray hairs defying gravity, and it hangs untrimmed and funky. (Maybe she can go to Supercuts now and get some style.) Anyway, it was a mildly interesting half an hour where she told me some stuff...some of which I knew, and some was kind of eerie/offensive. Since when did Astrology combine numerology, Kabala and a deck of Bicycle playing cards? Things sure have changed since I last had my chart done. She obviously wouldn’t be writing one of those daily columns either. I don’t recall her wearing a qualifying Kabala, Madonna red string on her wrist come to think of it. (Now I am wondering if I got taken...h-m-m.) First off she drew a tic-tac-toe frame...then used the numbers from my birthdate...and of course I told her I was born in Japan so the time/stars allignments would be different...to which she said, “Oh..now vee do dat ting where if you haf lived here a long time yours will be based on dis time.” Oh...I get it, so I shift my star alignment or something. So now I have the top 3 empty, and two 8’s in the second row on the end and a 1 and a 4 in the third row (I forget the placement). “Everyone alive has a 9 in their birthdate, so vee don’t use it.” Brilliant. Except not having anything in the “intelligence” row kinda hurt, if you know what I mean. Oh sure, she tried to make up for it by saying I make decisions with my emotions, my instincts. But truthfully all I heard was, “You didn’t go to college did you?” Kind of tainted everything from that point out, but I digress. She did say I would be suffering a huge loss...well duh. She said I had been giving for a long time. My God, how does she figure this shit out? She said, “Many people will want to hear what you have to say...in the next four years....” Um-m-m...”...you’re creative. A communicator.” So I start thinking maybe she should have had my birthday, cause she is not all that good of a communicator, but again I digress. You mean I have been writing for all these years and nobody wanted to listen? I’m crushed. She did say I would do well financially...in four years. FOUR YEARS? Criminy, I gotta wait Four More Years? I’m, not trying for some Presidential slogan here. Can’t I even have some “Change”? What’s up with the Four Years thing anyway? Then she told me the Saturn was in my Uranus or something for the past 10 years...funny I never felt it...but apparently many Leos died or were having problems. I suppose that would shuffle me into the latter category, cause I think I am still alive. (I need to research how many Leos died compared to say Capricorns or Scorpios.) By now I’m starting to look at my watch...crap, only 15 minutes has gone by and she keeps saying, “You don’t think a lot, you just go with your emotions...but be-e-e careful not to find a lover who needs takink care of. No sick people.” Uh---okay. and she did qualify “sick people” as being mentally ill or physically ill. I’m glad she clarified it, since I don’t think with my college educated brain. As she ran out of flattering things to tell me, she paused, stared deeply into my eyes with her cataract clouds and said, “Now comes zee psychic part. You vant to ask me somefink?” “Yeah, if you are the psychic how come you don’t already know the question I have for you?” “Ahhh, you vant to know about the story I wrote from the perspective of Mars then.” “Huh?” “Yes, I wrote a story, for people who always imagine what Mars is like...where music is quartz...and thoughts are crystals of many colors, and....” “Gosh, did I mention I had a Tarot card reading I need to get to?” Hah, guess I showed her I have a brain! Besides it was a ruse, really for a past Life Reading...and she calls herself a psychic...tsk-tsk. |
| “So, you knew my husband....” but you don't know me. Hardly a day goes by without some meeting about the businesses I’ve been suddenly thrust into. They are usually meetings with men. I don’t mean with my brother-in-law. I mean with other associated people who did business with my husband. I discovered I have been known or thought of not as me, but as an appendage to Lance. Hey, I’m happy to have been his other half, but...obviously these men knew me only in the capacity of being his family, his wife, his lover, but not as an individual who may actually have had a life of her own, separate from Lance, as an individual. I’m reduced to feeling like I need to whip out some knitting needles or something when we have our meetings. “Excuse me, Donna Reed died awhile back. Remember?” In their eyes, I’m the traditional “little woman” who couldn’t possibly have a clue what an investment IRA account is...even though I have been contributing to mine for years because I happen to have worked throughout most of our married life, including the past 17 years as a small business owner. Do I really need to sit across from a man, just two years older than I, who feels he needs to “illustrate” on a legal pad a series of three boxes representing our IRAs...Lance’s, mine, and the third (drawn in the middle no less) to represent the new merging of our two accounts now? Me either. But he did. Groan. Did I need him to say, “Lance has a favorite charity.”? Good grief, I was with him for 30 years and I don’t know what charities he/we support? Knit one, pearl one. So, I look up over my reading glasses and said, “I also have a favorite charity I support.” The look on his face was to die for. It was all I could do to keep from snickering, and I’m not much of a snickerer. "Oh, you have your own charity you support?" He says as though this is a foreign concept. Finally I get to tell him some of who I am, why I support Children of the Night. After all, he does still want me as a customer now doesn’t he? I may be a tad rough on him as I look back on this, but it is 2009...which means his talking down to me as well as taking up an hour and a half of my (also valuable) time (for what should have been a twenty minute meeting) was...pitiful. Yet some of the worst things he said were his parting words casually thrown out as I stood up, ”Are you healthy?” Well... yes, but then so was my husband until he wasn’t. But the real corker came after I had answered that question, when, as his parting statement to me he said, “Well, you look good.” And this has what to do with you investing my IRAs? The next story is about me going to pick up a watch of Lance’s , one I want to wear so it was necessary to have some of the links removed. It was a little emotional for me because of the nature of the errand. The one thing which made it a little easier was knowing the jeweler for over a decade, and in fact, having been a partner with him for that long, until I closed my business. I walk in and ask, “So, how are you?” This seemed to have opened opened his personal floodgates, “Oh... not too good. I’m being sued.” He wanted to go beyond pleasantries. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear this.” Which I thought was appropriate, and would end it, especially knowing the fragile state I am in...or the one he would soon ascribe to me. "How are you Sheila? You must feel horrible. " Could I then be expected to answer anything else other than, "Yes, I feel horrible."? Even if it was not one of the worst days I had experienced, I could feel his expectation that I had to meet, therefore turning my day into his reality. It didn't matter if I was actually feeling sort of good before I walked through those doors, he needed for me to feel horrible to validate his perception of how he would feel. In fact, how he did feel. He didn't hear me say, "Oh, I feel pretty good today." Instead he went on and on about every worse case scenario his mind chad come up with over the past 72 hours, since he had heard about the lawsuit. Obviously something I do too (going over the worst that could happen), but for about as long as it takes to go there and see it does nothing productive for me to worry about. What will be will always unfold and reveal itself in good time. “I couldn’t tell anyone about this, I have nobody to talk to. I think if I told my wife she might divorce me.” Surely he is kidding. I know his wife, and his children...she would divorce you because of some seemingly unfounded lawsuit. Oh brother, you are in more serious trouble than a lawsuit. What do you say to this? Nothing. I just listened as he let spill every detail...obviously he needed someone to listen, and because I walked through his door, I was it. When he finally finished all of the confusing details, I digested it, and wondered if I, having been married to an attorney, was why he told me all of this. I mean, he only knows me through our past jewelry dealings...but I gave him the same advice my husband would have done, “Don’t volunteer anything you know. It is up to them to prove you guilty, not for you to prove your innocence.” A concept most of us seem willing to ignore these days, whether it be a condemnation of a new President, to some serious allegations about the mental stability of a political party. Sweeping views not stopping to see how many different individual views might get swept up in the generalizations. I'm guilty of it too. The banker is having his meetings by rote...formulaic based on his past perceptions. It's time for all of us to rethink our perceptions. If we reach into the bag of world problems and pull any one out, will we see the guilt finger we ascribe pointing at it? I think most of us have to say "yes". And not because we thought it through fully, but because we let the mass of talking heads convince us, whether on tv or in the many blog posts reviling something or someone. The noise of it all gets to be too much. It's easier to get swept up in the debris of the mass than to stand out as an individual. It's safer. The same thing happened with my jeweler, it’s just I happened to come along and I listened to him. If we all listened more and talked less I wonder how many individuals we would discover? I am one. The banker now knows. Should my friend be talking this over at home with his wife? Yes, but I am forced to see him as an individual now, something his wife doesn't see anymore. How do I react to people now? Do I also assail people with the assumption of who they appear to be versus who they are outside of the given situation? Yes, only now I will be more aware of individuals...time to put away those proverbial knitting needles and stand up. Widowhood, I keep hoping I'll look fat in it, but I don't. The world just isn't black and white. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| To ignore things you have to be heavy into denial. If you are spending that much time and effort to deny something, then you are going to miss the point. There is no time for denial, only acceptance. For when we accept the choice is ours, then we understand the preciousness of the time we are allowed. We must open our eyes to making the right choices, the ones which will be for the benefit of not just you, but those who surround you, as well as those who will be left behind to deal with the aftermath, if you do not get out of denial. Denial serves little purpose in the overall scheme of life. Deal with whatever it is and try to move on. Do not waste much time on the “what ifs” either, unless it is moving you forward toward the goal. Even so, make a list and check it off, spend your time doing not saying “what if”. Try at least. Trust me, we don’t have time to play with the choices, they are completely visible, as long as you’re open to them. Make a decision, right or wrong and you will get something out of it. The satisfaction of having tried and succeeded is wonderful, and believe it or not, so is having tried and failed. You learn lessons either way. Regrets...don’t bother. Make changes, adjustments but move forward in life. Memories are reserved for lessons learned and noted. Good or bad. In the scheme of things, you should be letting go of the bad ones and concentrating on the good ones. I know it may sound simplistic, but why complicate matters by avoiding the simple answer? There isn’t an hour of the day (or sometimes minute) that I don’t thing about Lance and something we did, and sometimes those things we didn’t do. But I don’t spend much time thinking about what we didn’t do, because the fact is, I cannot change it. All I have is the ability to do is to do the things I need to... and even a few I want to. Life is not just full of needs, but there is room in it for wants, as long as they are fulfilling some sort of need. It’s really this simple. I bought a (another) book today, it’s title is, The Other Side of Sadness”. It is written by, George A. Bonanno, and I highly recommend it to anyone who is dealing with a loss of a loved one. Finally, I am hearing about people who feel similar to me, who find it easier to grieve than has been previously talked about. I recognize so many things; what inappropriate things people say because they do not realize we all grieve differently. What a concept! He recognize and debunks some previously taken as the gospel studies and theories. I hear myself in his words...well some of them, but that is way better than reciting by rote what others have surmised and written about. I know many of you are surprised that I seem to do well, but it seems as though there are three graph lines, trajectories which represent how we deal with grief; a) chronic grief b) recovery and c) resilience. The criteria for each having been taken into account the only one I readily identify with is resilience. A-h-h-h...resilience. I completely identify with the calmest line of the graph. You may know me as one who seems to be coping well enough to be wounded, but not debilitated. That would be an accurate reflection. I do have very positive experiences, and these seem to help carryover a positive influence to those other people who interact with me. This has shown to be of great help to me in this process of grieving and moving on. When the people I interact with recognize that I am able to move forward, in direction of my new life, with some sense of purpose, they may find it difficult. I have observed some people speak to me of the devastation of loss, but what I see is their perceived devastation at a contemplation for of their past losses, or those which they may reasonably project to lose in the future. The sudden oncoming of death is a tough and individual response, and it would wrong to assume we all handle it in the same way. Being a woman who has dealt with and will again (in all probability) be dealing again with a great loss, I handle it as best I can. The best I can do is to take it as another blow which knocks me off of center, but never knocks me out of my senses. I keep my wits about me, and allow those moments of grief to come, honor it, experience it, own it, but then move on because I do believe our time is finite, and I have much left to do in my own life. There are only so many things I can do which have any affect on Lance’s death; honor his life, respect his wishes, continue on with the work he left undone, and enjoy the rest of my life. It seems simple enough to do. I’m on my way. Oh, and smile, you look so much better with a smile, and you just might change someone's day for the better! |
| “Leave It To the Women”...precursor to the “View” but with civility. In the early 1980’s there was a television show that seemed innovative at the time, Leave It To The Women. It was a panel of women led by Stephanie Edwards, the daughter of Ralph Edwards (“This is Your Life”, “People’s Court” etc.) and former co-host of “AM America” and now the annual co-host of the Rose Parade with Bob Eubanks. Each show featured a panel of women who would discuss various topic together. The idea was conceived by a master of entertainment for the times, Chuck Barris. Many of you will recognize some of his other shows; "The Gong Show", "The $1.98 Beauty Show", "The Dating Game", "Treasure Hunt" and "Threes A Crowd" among them. Along with Chuck Barris was Woody Fraser, another man with a long list of executive producer or producer credits on shows including, but not limited to; "That’s Incredible" (which I also contributed to), "Richard Simmons Show", "Good Morning America" and "The Mike Douglas Show". (I had early aspirations to go on the Mike Douglas Show as an author, but despite valiant efforts it was not to be.) Suffice it to say these were very smart men who had their finger on the pulse of where television was headed; good, bad or indifferent. I happen to have been working with C.A.T. at the time, and as their Public Relations Manager and Special Projects Coordinator I was often called upon to speak in public or to be a guest on numerous different television shows. Thus, when this show was going to discuss sex, it was only natural they would call me. I went through several rounds of mail and phone calls to give them background information. Finally the day for taping was set. My personal life (in this time-frame) included the man I would marry. Our relationship had finally progressed to the point where I was living with him and partaking in weekly dinners with him at his parents’ home. So, I did the natural thing; I invited his mother to come with me to the taping. I never hid who I was while on the way to becoming who I am. She was only too happy to come, much to my relief. There was a live studio audience for her to sit in to watch the taping. I drove to KTLA with my future mother-in-law, was admitted through the gates and found a parking place quickly. I had been to the studio many times before, on different shows, and to ask a certain former Honorary Mayor of Hollywood, Johnny Grant, for a donation. Johnny Grant was also the host of his own television show in those days, something to do with Hollywood...because frankly, outside of showing up at every “Star” laying, hand-and-footprint ceremony on Hollywood Boulevard. I think he didn’t have much going on. (Okay, I take it back. I just went to his official website and I take it back.) By the time I got to know him...well, I was 26 and maybe already a tad jaded against old Hollywood guys, or even the newer ones like the other one who kept hitting on me with “odd” sexual requests merely because they knew I had worked at a brothel. I suppose a fairish assumption considering it was Hollywood, but they were so very wrong, because I already had made a lovely segue into creating a respectable life/future for myself. (I will say one personal thing about Johnny Grant, he paid my telephone bill gratis, no expectations. That was a huge testament to his conviction to Hollywood and our relationship.) One in the green room I quickly discovered the prestigious company I was to be with on the panel to discuss the guests; Shana Alexander, journalist, but most known for her “Sixty Minutes” fame, the wonderful singer/actress (best known for her role on “Touched by an Angel”) Della Reese, and a Playboy Centerfold from 1966 and wife of Dick Martin (from “Laugh In” fame), Dolly Martin. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Good company I believe. A wonderful mix of backgrounds and brains...not incidentally some beauty too. After all it was television. The show was taped in front of a live audience, including my future mother-in-law. I wasn’t nervous so much as I was in awe of my fellow panel. It just amazed me that I would be put on the same side of the desk as these muti-talented women. Never underestimate myself was the lesson I learned. I think it only appropriate that now, some twenty plus years later to point out the strides and the missteps of talk shows which have women portrayed as screaming, talking over each other, shrieking shrill voices saying so much yet not being heard. I can’t help but wonder if this is not one of the contributing factors to women having such a low opinion of themselves, nevermind the men won’t listen. Until women stop and listen to each other first, they will continue to go unheard by the larger population. There are some strides, but one look at Hillary Clinton and her own struggles, weighed down as well as buoyed by Bill Clinton, will clearly illustrate what is wrong with how women are presented. On one hand for a woman to cry makes her too soft, but standing firm and raising her voice will have fingers pointing to her shrillness and insensitivity. We can’t win for losing....yet. Personally I don’t think Hillary Clinton was the “one” to be President, close, but not yet ready. She is quite angry, and many women believe had she not stood by Bill after his transgressions (and I say plural, because even discounting the “non-sex” he didn’t have he did lie to the country. We would have understood the truth, not liked it, but understood it) she would have become President. Hopefully, by the time we can Leave it to The Women for real, the voices will be less shrill, speaking softly, compassionately, with honesty and wisdom to the people. It sure would be something to look forward to. |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I scattered my husband’s ashes. I had them over a week and only managed to lose them for a few hours. (Remember, you heard it here first.) They were on my mantle, just awaiting “the feeling”...when I would know, in my gut, it was the day to do it. Yesterday morning I woke up, pulled back the drapes and could see what a WOWSA day we had. My first thought was, Lance would be sunning himself today. This could be the day! It was perfect. I poured my one cup of coffee and grabbed some cinnamon rolls and climbed back into to bed. I needed to write his obituary. Yes, I have let that slide. I wish he’d have written his own. He would have known what to say. I had to write my mother’s obit five years ago. Not fun at all. I like to think of writing as fun or at the very least enjoyable. But I banged hers out pretty easily. I must have started his obituary twenty times. Echos of the words I heard, from the lady at the newspaper, kept filling my brain, “Nothing too flowery, nothing too long, just the facts. You may use the word beloved.” How in the world does a writer do an obit about a man she loved deeply for half of her life and only get to use beloved? Let’s see... 1. On August 28, 2009 the beloved husband of....oh yuck! Again... 2. Beloved son, husband and brother to a family devastated by his loss....yuck! 3. The world will be a lesser place now that Lance has seen fit to make his exit after a short, unexpected illness. His beloved sense of humor, his charm and ability to touch all who came into contact with him... whether adversarial or a friend, all is a part of the legacy he leaves behind. Let’s face it, his heart was just too large for mere mortals, he had a higher purpose. Yuck! 4. Devastation doesn’t begin to describe the littered landscape of Sheila’s emotions now that she has lost her beloved Lance. He set the gold standard for men. True but yuck! 5. Though he didn’t believe there was anything after you die, I kind of hope my beloved was wrong. Yuck! I think it was then I realized this obit thing wasn’t going to happen, at least yet. I gazed out of the windows, the clear blue sky, the raggedy mountain landscape jutting upwards and I realized, today is the day. I took a shower, applied some lip gloss and mascara and threw on a long green jersey racerback dress. I knew he’d love it because it isn’t black, also because it was very casual. Not that Lance had anything against black, but the earth tone seemed appropriate for a scattering. I squirted some of his Obsession ™ after shave on and took a deep breath. I slipped into some silvery flip-flops and grabbed that ugly “gray suit” they "clothed" him in and headed outside. But first the tape. Good grief, they used so much scotch tape to keep the pop-up lid down (which sort of defeats things). I find a letter opener to slice through it and flip the lid open. (I know he’d want me to find a joke in there somewhere.) Then my mind began to wander. I thought of how much easier it would have been if I had chosen the “Baseball Urn”. I could see it in my mind as I walk over to the edge of the lawn, dressed in his Andre Ethier shirt and hear Vinnie’s voice in my head...”..and we have the windup...” as I do my best windup with the ash-filled baseball and let ‘er rip. It goes 30 feet before it drops and does a bounce off of the dirt, cracking open and scattering his ashes. Ahhh, he’d love that! But no, I didn’t have a baseball urn to toss out. So that fantasy ended and the reality of the plastic bag of ashes needed to be scattered. I know the pop-up lid could easily have had a windup handle, and then with a twist could have had a “Jack-in-the-box” pop up and hand me the bag.” He loved the Jack-in-the-Box advertising guy. Even had a bobble-head of him standing on his desk. Surely another fitting way to do it. But no...I could neither get the tightly bound plastic knot loose to open the bag, so I thought about how I decorate a cake...fill a baggie and snip off a corner. So that’s what I did grabbed my scissors and snipped a corner off of the bag...not too big not to small. I solemnly walked out to the small garden by the spa, the precise place he spent hours sunning himself, and held the bag gingerly as I let a stream of his ashes make their way to the flower bed. Daisy heads turned their faces-up as slowly the trickle of my love danced on the air towards them. Now I understand the phrase "Pushing up Daisies"....but first comes the rain of ashes. A red tailed hawk swooped down and tilted our way, as in deference to the moment. I continued to walk as the ashes fell around the perimeter of our lawn. Finally he had a permanent, sweeping view of the valley, and the last of his ashes caught the wind and blew around my oak tree as I sat on the bench and bid him adieu for the last time. My word was kept, and his loving arms would be circling our beloved home. I felt a peace and satisfaction. I hope he feels it too. Goodbye my love...gone... but never forgotten. |
| When people say “truth is stranger than fiction”...well, they know it to be true. I now add my voice to the mix. I realize I haven’t written in a week or so, at least for public consumption. Sometimes it takes a few days to be able to filter out the gems from the slush pile which has become my life as a...widow. Goodness, writing that word is strange. Oh well, I suppose I have has so many pigeonhole names, adding another, the latest is okay. Some of the ones I have had are a little bit like trying on Cinderella’s slipper...I am looking for a good fit. I was...a child, a daughter, a teenager, a sister, a wife, a mother, a divorcé, a single, a whore, an actress, a model, a writer, a wife again, a lecturer, a jewelry designer, a business owner, a caretaker, a volunteer, a civil rights activist, a military brat, an editor, an artist, and a few other things. Now I get to be a widow. Being a widow entails a whole new set of problems and I suspect it will contain a few joys too. This is a time each day is a discovery, of both important things like knowing you have to take the power handed you, to relinquishing some power over things you have little control of. It is a time for putting one foot in front of the other and hoping you can accomplish what seems like baby steps in a new, unasked for position in life. There are things which could have happened when you are a couple and would hash it out, or just share. You no longer can do this. The old “gut instinct” proves to be extremely helpful, as long as you realize it is subject to change as you also undergo changes in other areas. I went to my husband’s forty year class reunion last Saturday night. I had no plans to go, but let a few of his friends persuade me. Besides, who wouldn’t want to go to a genuine Beverly Hills 90210 class reunion? I went with him to his twentieth and thirtieth year reunions. I knew I had seen the paper flyer announcing it he had brought home. I remembered his excitement at the thought of reconnecting with his friends. Then he died, just 15 days before it. I threw the announcement in the trash, it was his reunion. The class of '69. Some of his friends called when they heard the news. One, the former news director at a television station, said I should come anyway because many would like an opportunity to express their feeling of loss. Another friend, and then another echoed the exact sentiments, asking me to be their guest. I agreed to go...in part because these were his friends, our friends...the ones we hung out and double or triple dated with. The ones who we partied with during the late 70’s and 80’s. These were the real Beverly Hills High kids, some of whom had known my husband since kindergarten. Others used to play poker with him, or date him or....well, he was loved by many. So I drove to LA, dressed in a dress I bought in Las Vegas, slapped a smile on my face and had one of his friends pick me up and take me, so I would not have to walk into the reunion alone. Some of them were closer than others to me; Judy, wife of one of his friends was my maid of honor at our wedding. I only had one attendant, our wedding was small for maybe forty people total. This couple was out to dinner with us the night before our wedding. I wanted to--no, I also needed to see these people one more time. What I discovered is I still love Judy, she hasn’t changed except to become wiser...we laughed about all of us singing “Chili Bean” to Michael Jackson’s song, “Billie Jean” while driving up Doheny Drive...definitely high on life, and probably some other recreational enhancement. It was the early 80’s and like many others we partied...but only on weekends. Nearly all of us were working for a living. Oddly enough those, whose parents knew the wisdom of making their children work, had the brightest and most successful in later life. Those “trust fund babies”...at least the men, would take a dive, some literally off of a balcony after a tragic night of murder, others off of a financial cliff. Tough times for Beverly High, yet probably no different in the outcomes of so many other school classes. Through the three decades some of the kids didn’t fare so well. Take A.G., his father passed away early on, leaving him a vast fortune. His first wedding was in Las Vegas...I didn’t know him then, but later on you could watch him burn through the money, as well as a succession of wives; the high school sweetheart one, another a supermodel and the last an artist. He had homes all over the country and world, for a time, each one of the spouses had his children...and then took much of his money in the subsequent divorces. Messy all of them. He ended up broke and sleeping on the couches of his friends. I saw him Saturday, wild eyed but oddly calm. He remembered me, as well as the last time he saw me I was a blonde. Or he had just seen my husband and I it on the endless loop of the past two reunions, like I did as we spoke, his back to the television and me looking over his shoulder, mesmerized at my husband and I looking so youthful, beautiful and happy. How odd to see us, yet watching the interviews of us made me feel less alone. Another was a philanderer, a serial one, as they often are. He learned how to be a good one from a master, his father. He burned through several wives, always with “the” mistress on the side. I got to meet her tonight, finally. Oddly, he stayed with the same one, but had two or three wives, I lost track actually. He doesn’t look so good. He was always kind to me in the past, tonight was no different. Well, it was...this time he was at a loss for words. Many people didn’t know what to say...hell I didn’t either. They would say, “I’m so sorry”, or, “He was a charismatic man” or, “So glad you came.” Some of the so-called beautiful people were not...either inside nor outside. Another fell completely apart when she was introduced to me. Wailing loudly, crying like a baby, snot dripping on my shoulder as I held her and patted her on the pack, “It’s okay, it will be okay. Can I get you a tissue?” “Screech.” Damn, that was a direct assault on my right eardrum, and I politely tried to pry her heaving, sobbing body away to rummage through my purse and get her a tissue. She nearly pierced my eardrum. Not all were so strange. I was “cornered” in the ladies room where I heard a tale of my husband taking a woman to her junior high prom, a woman he barely knew, but asked to go because nobody else did. “He picked me up in a Rolls Royce that night. I’ll never forget his kindness.” I shuffled from foot to foot, in an effort to wait for an empty stall. “I want you to know...” I began, “...Lance never changed from the person you describe, he was like this the entire thirty years I was with him. He was a kind man, always thinking of others.” Eventually the stall door opened, saving me from ruining my outfit and a perfectly embarrassing problem. One of them anyway. Based on my experiences Saturday night, here are some things you should not say/do to a grieving widow: 1. “I hear your husband made tons and tons of money in show business.” This shows your complete ignorance and negates any earlier statement professing how well you knew him. 2. “I had a dream about him one week before he died. He was walking up a hill to the reunion...but he couldn’t make it.” Oh thank you for sharing this. 3. “Did he have a will?” Unless you are an attorney or you are the state, it’s none of your business. 4. “I have known him since we were four.” Oh, that must be why I never heard your name in thirty years. 5. “We just had to come to the 40th reunion...you never know who won’t make it to the 50th ya know.” Uh-h-h yeah, I do. 6. Shove a video camera, lights and a so called friend (with bad breath) with a microphone in her face and say, “This is blank-blank and her husband blank died two weeks ago. Are you having fun tonight?” What do you think, it was his class reunion. I am glad I went, but not sure I’ll be looking at the CD of the event, even though a renown editor in Hollywood, and friend of ours will be editing all of the footage. Some things do not need a replay. |
| I went to my mailbox yesterday, and found a large mailing envelope. What was inside most of you will know about, because you made this happen. "Reflections of a Sunset" is the most beautiful and thoughtful thing anyone has done for me...for us. The mere words, thank you seem so insignificant in the face of the generosity, sincerity, and love shown to me by so many. Again, I sit here with tears welling at how much of your time, energies and LOVE were poured into this project. A monumental task in coordination had to have taken place to put this all together in such a timely fashion. I'm overwhelmed by your love. Last evening, when I could sit down and finally read each and every word, absorb and allow the feelings of each photo, poem, story or comment to sink in, I discovered how much I had brought of Lance into your lives through my writing. What a gift you have each given back to me...the ability to express how he touched you. I have so much more I want to say...but today is Lance's 40th High School Reunion and they have asked me to come. He was their Class President. I have already seen a memorial "wall" with tributes on their site, but his friends will no doubt do something extra. I think I can expect a night of surprises, tears, hugs and a great deal of emotion...both from them and me. I need to go now for a few days, but when I return I will be saying much more. Thank you all from the bottom of a both empty and full heart, mine. Love and blessings to you. Sheila/Nada |
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. Cute pictures! I'm so glad you have found a new and different, but still beautiful, life.